Drabbles
by arianna99
Summary: Tamora Pierce drabbles, both Tortall and Emelan. Chapter 16: Sequel to Common Traits, Owen is forced to reveal the reason of his rubber ball dropping
1. Chapter 1

**I've decided I need to challenge myself. Or at least I need to write SOMETHING. I don't when the last time I updated was. So, what I'll try to do is write one Tamora Pierce drabble per day til…((checks calender)) alright, till the 24th of December. Nice round place to finish it. Plus, I need to get some of this excess stuff out of my system, or my HP stuff is going to grow mold.**

**And in case you didn't notice, I used 'Tamora Pierce' in the third person. I don't think she generally uses the royal we, so…(Big news here) the characters…dundundun…aren't mine!!!! Now you're surprised, huh?**

**#1: 20th of November**

**Characters: Owen of Jesslaw, Margarry of Cavall, (Wyldon of Cavall)**

**Title: Remonstrances**

For as long as he'd known her, all she ever did was pester him. Not in the cute, affectionate dort of pestering, either. The sort of pestering where, whatever he did, she told him exactly how and why he could do it better.

He brought her flowers- She didn't like hyacinths. She preferred bluebells.

He outdid himself in training, once almost (_almost) _beating his famed knight master with archery- She said survival of the fittest was barbaric and uncivilized.

He read classical literature so she would stop thinking of him as a barbarian- She told him he was skiving off his duties as a squire.

He helped to save a village of refugees- She told him off for letting Happy die.

He had the feeling she wouldn't be pleased if he rescued her from a bunch of bandits. She would probably complain about his fighting style. Or lack thereof.

But thanks to his backstabbing, traiterous knight master, he's forced to spend time with her more often than not.

"Jesslaw, Vivienne and I shall be dining out. I trust Margarry can entertain you in the meantime."

"Margarry, do take Jesslaw round the grounds?"

"JESSLAW! If you say another word…MARGARRY! Quit sneaking round back there…THAT'S IT! Both of you, go to the library, and stay there till further notice."

But although he was truly sick of her nagging, he found himself drawn to follow her advice at everytime. He tried desperately to get her to be pleased with him, just once, that it was almost sad.

"Tell me," She said, with that melodious voice that could show no flaw whatsoever, "Why don't you give up?"

He blinks. His sight of the library, lit only by a few candles, is somewhat blurred from having just read a hundred pages on Sir Emry of Haryse. Wyldon and Vivienne are, as so often, out.

"Give what up?"

She looks at him. He wonders if he'll ever stand that piercing glance. It's as if she can read his thoughts. "It. I don't understand it. I've been nagging and nattering at you for ages and you haven't once said how much it bothers you. Why don't you just give up and say it does?"

Now he's confused. "I thought you said giving up was weak."

"Oh, it is. But everyone else would have given it up by now."

"I'll take that as a compliment, thank you."

"You're quite welcome. Now answer the question."

Owen considers. "Well, you're a fine lady. I don't think it would be polite to say that to you."

"You've never given a fig for politeness."

"If you insist. You're not going to like hearing this, though."

"If I only heard things I wanted to, I'd be spoiled rotten."

"Fine. I like you. A lot. Not many women would talk as directly and frankly to a fellow. I don't really think I've met anyone quite like you."

There's the familiar purse of the lips. That means she's about to nag. He braces himself.

"You would have saved me a lot of trouble if you had said that considerably earlier." She says, and leans forward to kiss a completely baffled Owen.

After getting over the initial shock of his first kiss, he decides this is the kind of criticism he likes.


	2. Chapter 2

**#2: November 21st, 2006**

**Characters: Ozorne Tasikhe**

**Title: Missing**

Ozorne misses many things. He misses being able to eat things that actually taste good (Fear tastes strange. Like an exotic fruit. Only less enjoyable. It includes the blood and sweat that leaked of the people who felt it. And occasionally even less pleasant things. An amateur could pick out the fear of the single person who threw up. Now that taste is bitter)

He misses being emperor. As a stormwing, he can't order anyone around, much less order anyone dead.

He misses his mute slaves. Here, everyone gabs.

He misses gold. He misses his eyeliners and face paints. He misses being able to hide behind the mask of the polite ruler. So instead he hides behind the mask of the impolite stormwing of vengeance.

He misses his legs. It takes him aeons to learn to fly properly. The currents cannot support the steel feathers with ease, and it takes him great physical effort to get high enough to coast. Physical effort! As if he had ever needed that in his earlier life.

Ozorne misses human females. He misses the softness of human flesh. He misses the warmth that comes from every human. Steel is cold, too cold.

What he misses most is regret, sorrow, and all the other icky human feelings. He can hardly feel them now. Vengeance, yes. Vengeance he feels in abundance. But try as he might, he just can't regret turning on Ar- Numair all those years ago.

Actually, the only thing he does not miss is a mirror. Pools, sure, but with pools, he can at least lead himself to think that it was a pulled apart reflection, not the real thing. He has a sneaking suspicion that he would feel more like a turkey of vengeance than like a stormwing if he saw his own reflection


	3. Chapter 3

**!!! SPOILERS FOR TERRIER!!!!!**

**Disclaimer: Yadda, yadda, yadda- see chap. 1**

**#3: 22nd of November**

**Characters: Myaral Kerin (Later Fane), Mattes Tunstall**

**Title: Baking Brownies**

Mya set out, hauling forth a small bowl, and a larger bowl. A bit of butter to grease the square form she was baking in, her cup measurements, teaspoons and tablespoons…

She should have known. She had known, actually, but she had thought it was worth a try. She liked him a lot, that much was true, but she really had known. She had known.

Fire up the oven, get it nice and ready for baking. She hauled out a cup of flour, dumped it into the small bowl, and got her chocolate powder. That was the good thing about working for the provost. Her family had a touch with the kitchen; they'd been working there for generations. Expensive things like sweetened chocolate powder were impossible to come by otherwise. Four eighths of a cup of that, and two eighths of unsweetened cocoa, plus almost a teaspoon of baking powder, mix the dry ingredients.

She sniffed. She could not cry. Rule number one. If you feel like crying, cut onions. Then at least you can blame it on something. Because cooks don't cry. Mattes just was that way, and he wasn't ever going to change. Or if so, it would be too late. Mya wanted to settle, have children. Not fool around with a feckless, overgrown teenager forever.

Three fourths of a stick of butter, cut small, three fourths of a cup white sugar, three fourths brown sugar, stirred together…

Drat! Not enough brown sugar. The cupboards were nigh empty. Only a dusty packet of confectioners suger. Mya pursed her lips. It would have to do. Deviating from the norm was something she had always done. Family recipes had to fall victim to it someday too. She had certainly deviated in letting Mattes Tunstall anywhere near her. He had seemed sweet and nice to begin with, but really. That sore excuse for a man…

She beat the butter and sugar with more force than necessary, until it was quite creamy. Her arm would hurt in the morning. Adding three eggs and one and half teaspoons vanilla, she beat it again, and again, remembering Mattes' face.

He had been shocked when she mentioned marriage. He thought every female he associated with must know he never took anything seriously. Oh, she had laughed it off, said she had only used the word to see how he would react, and laughed at him. She grinned sourly. If it were meant to be, he would have known her laughter was fake.

She set a bit of butter in a pan, and a few blocks of baking chocolate. Let it melt over low heat, just as her heart had when Mattes had first grinned her way and pulled a rose out from behind his back. Oh, she had guessed back then. He had never seen her before; the rose hadn't been intended for her, but her vanity had been appeased.

The dry ingredients into the wet, mix, but not too long, otherwise the baking powder loses its touch. That it does, indeed. Mattes had always said he liked her brownies especially. But she didn't trust him. She didn't trust him too be good, and sweet, and gentle with her.

The chocolate was melted now. Good. She poured it onto the sticky batter and mixed again, briefly. Then she poured everything into the square form. Twenty to thirty minutes in the oven. She began to clear away the spoons, dishes and whatnot.

She jabbed the knife down the brownies to see if they were done yet. No batter stuck to the knife. They were done. Mattes would be in any minute. And he would still have the upper hand. He always had the upper hand. But she wouldn't let him. Not this time.

"Mya, I must say, this the best batch you've made yet!" Mattes exclaimed as he put the soft, moist brownie to his lips.

Mya smiled smugly. "Thank you. Mattes, we need to talk."

**Special thx to: **

**Mage of Dragons (What I meant there was that the person whose fear the stormwings eat is attuned to what sort of fear it is. If the person hurls, well, the taste of fear is tinged. In my imagination, at least)**

**Eclipsa**

**queenshinkokami**

**jokat**


	4. Chapter 4

**#4: 23. November 06**

**Characters: Zihan ha'Minch**

**Title: progressive**

_Myles of Olau is a mild person._

That was all Zihan ha'Minch could think to write in his report on the page. And that was really weak.

But what else was there to say about Myles? He was a studious boy, and he did, on occasion, try to participate properly. But on more occasions than that, he would look the training master in the eye with the manner of a teacher and go off into a tangent about what a load of bollocks the Code of Chivalry was.

The Mithran priests were all in a state of ecstasy over his intellectual values, and many of his peers accepted him as eccentric, but brilliant and humorous, if not athletic.

Why, Prince Roald had even told the training master everyone was entitled to an opinion, Myles might as well say his on the code.

Zihan sighed. He could see a progressive country coming his way. Knights discussing on the code of chivalry, when they had just accepted it beforehand.

But better the next generation to handle it. _Myles of Olau is a mild person. _That would have to do for now.


	5. Chapter 5

**5: 24th of November 06**

**Characters: Gareth (the younger) of Naxen, Cythera of Elden**

**Title: Court Games**

"You are perfection." He tells her, on his knees in front of her, kising her dainty shoe.

She steps away carefully, lifting her skirt a fraction of an inch, so as not to smudge the hem. "Nothing is perfect. Hence, anything that seems perfect is liable to be a deception or a disappointment." She says drily. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm invited to tea."

She leaves him kneeling on the ground, lips still puckered and still bowed down to where her shoe was a second ago. Realizing how stupid he looks, he rolls back onto his heels, as if examining the ground. Really, he's just inhaling the sweet scent she left behind. Like sweetpeas. He loves sweetpeas. Especially raw. He can remember his mother peeling sweetpeas in the kitchen while he sat next to her and told her about the horse he wanted to have one day.

This is another reason on his long list of reasons: _Why she should just realize she loves me already_

He's only ever kissed her once, and that was a single moment of heaven on earth. But she pulled away far too quickly, saying, "Now, now. It won't do for someone with my reputation to be seen kissing in a deserted hallway."

He gets to his feet. He's about to follow her to her tea party (He knows she is actually a bit vain and likes his constant praise) when he realizes that she's probably expecting him to follow her.

_Ha! Got you now, Cissy! _He thinks, and walks away in the other direction. She'll realize exactly how much she misses his presence if he just avoids her!

Several days later, as she forgets herself and kisses him for the joy of seeing him after his being absent for so long, she can tell by the smug smile on his lips after they pull apart that this was planned. "Well, Gareth," She says, dipping a low curtsey and looking first demurely at the floor, then at him. "You seem to have won the battle."

He bows dramatically. "Why, thank you, fair maiden." He reaches out to carress her cheek.

She wags a finger disapprovingly. "Now, now. You may win the battle, but still lose the war." Then she walks away, back straight and hips swinging enticeingly. He swears. That would be her payback for tricking her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Due to some issues, including dreadful technical ones (GGGGRRRRRRRR) I will updating a bit less now...but I will get all the way to New Years eve instead then. Rejoice.  
**

**6: 25th of November**

**Characters: George Cooper, Alanna of Trebond (and Olau, and Pirate's Swoop)**

**Title: Pigs might fly**

Year 1: When Alan first comes to the palace, it isn't the Sight that leads him to the marketplace to greet her. It's a little black cat with purple eyes. But it _is_ the sight that tells him he'd best keep track of the little tyke.

Year 2: Though he'd never admit it, one of the reasons George loves to teach Alan hand-to-hand combat, was the feel of his wiry muscles under George's skin. It's just wrong, and George knows it.

Year 3: Then again, George considered, as he waited outside of his mothers parlor, maybe it wasn't that wrong, considering that Alan- Alanna- wasn't really a he.

Year 4: George knows Alanna and Jon will do _something _stupid down south. But Jonathan is quite shocked when George grabbs him by the collar and tells him that he had better watch out for Alan, especially when Alan becomes the prince's squire.

Year 5: It's the shock of his life, seeing that cat sitting on Alanna's shoulder, licking itself smugly.

Year 6: On the night the troops leave for Fort Drell, Marek and Rispah have to drag a very drunk George upstairs. George, all the while, is mumbling about how fifteen is far too young to participate in any sort of war.

Year 7: The first time he sees Alanna shoot Jon a covert glance and mischievous smirk across the bar, George knows he's lost the first round.

Year 8: On the night after her ordeal, he's there. She doesn't know it, but he's there, watching her kill that bastard.

Year 9: Worrying about Alanna drives him so far into distraction that he has to send his two agents down south. He just has to.

Year 10: He likes to think that lilac dress is for him, just for him, but common sense tells him better. He knows she's just on the rebound. And as much as he would like to stay there, right there with her, he knows there are more pressing things to worry about for both of them. He can only hope she'll come back to him, someday.

Year 11: George is tired of waiting round for Alanna. Besides, what can he offer, when she goes around sleeping with the shang dragon and the prince of Tortall? But he remembers the one thing his mother gave him aplenty. Patience. Alanna isn't ready to settle. When she is, she'll tell him. He knows it. In the meantime, he has a king to protect, her by his side.

Year 12: Waking up in her tent after she's consented to be his, he wonders…would she have if he hadn't went and gone respectable?

"Silly boy." She tells him. "If Jon hadn't been so kind as to do it for me, I'd just have made you do it yourself."

Year 13: On their wedding night, he asks if she regrets it. He knows how much she's giving up. But she just snorts and whacks him on the upside of the head. "Pigs might fly."


	7. Chapter 7

**7: 22.1.07**

**Characters: Sarralyn Salmalín, Rikash Salmalín, Kaya Salmalín, Numair Salmalín, Daine Sarrasri Salmalín**

**Title: Volatile**

Sarralyn is five. She cocks her head at her papa. "Papa, if I were to turn into a seahorse, would you still love me?"

Numair glances up from his book. "Of course, dear."

Rikash is three. "Papa, if I made a hole into the palace, would you still love me?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

Kaya is barely a year old. "Da! Ka-BOOM, glug, glug!"

Sarralyn is now really intrigued. "So Da…Are you telling us you would love us no matter what we did?"

Numair puts his book aside. "Of course, dear. I'm your father! I can't just not love you!"

Rikash nods slowly. "We love you, too." Three children under the age of six all climb on their Papa at once and hug him. Then they go outside, leaving behind a slightly rumpled, but thoroughly pleased Numair.

Sarralyn giggles. "Daddy is sweet."

Kaya gurgles as she toddles along next to Rikash as best as she can. She has bat ears under her curly brown hair.

Rikash grins. "Now we know we can do everything."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Numair." Daine says pleasantly. "Did the children say anything…out of the ordinary to you today?"

Numair considers. "Well, Sarra asked if I would love her if she were a seahorse and Rikash asked if I would love him if he were to…do something drastic. I forget what."

"Possibly something along the lines of 'Would you still love me if I blew a hole into the palace wall'?"

Numair looks up from his book. "Yes. Yes, that was it. How do you know?"

"You told them you would?"

"Of course."

Daine slaps him on the upside of the head. "Rookie mistake."

At his bewildered look, she smiles grimly. "Let me put it like this: There will be severe renovations needed over on the east wing, and various species in the menagerie are quite intimidated by giant seahorses."

It is around now that Numair realizes what a volatile combination his children make.


	8. Chapter 8

**8: 23. 1. 07**

**Characters: Isas, Niva**

**Title: Bet**

„Isas…"

She was tapping her foot. Never good.

"Isas, I will count to ten, and then I want you out here."

Now she was pursing her lips. He could practically hear it through the door.

"One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Out!"

Experience taught him how to deal with Niva. Namely do exactly what she says or die a painful death.

He comes out, ears slightly red.

"Isas."

"…yes, Niva?"

"What are you doing in a cupboard?"

"Sitting. Breathing. Living. Thinking."

"Isas, I am warning you…"

"Fine. Hiding."

"_Thank _you."

"If you knew all along, why did you go to all that trouble?" Isas sniffs, dusting off his tunic and trying to retain one little ounce of dignity.

Niva smiles sweetly. "Three reasons. One, I wanted to hear it from you yourself. Two, you'll need to face it sooner or later. And three, thanks to certain circumstances, I need to get the miniscule, useless tea set stored in this cupboard."

"Ah." Isas says drily. "What perfume is she wearing this time?"

Niva chuckles. "You really do not want to know."

Isas raises an eyebrow. He is intrigued. "Oh, but I do."

"You do, eh?"

"I do. But if you can't find out, I'll ask."

She makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a snort. "Have you no sense of tact? Besides, I already have a sample. I can figure out the ingredients in no time."

Isas smirks. "Bet?" He holds out his hand. She shakes it.

Then she hands him a tray full of grotesquely decorated tea things. "Take these and _enjoy _your chat with your aunt."

Isas scowls as she walks away. 'Enjoy' indeed!

The next day, he finds a list of ingredients in neat, small handwriting, and next to it a vial, with the label, "_Try this!"_


	9. Chapter 9

**Title: Heroes**

**Characters: Ulasim (Rubinyan)**

**Notes: Little oneshotish thing I had lying around…oh, and to everyone who asked about the last one: Isas Crane, Niva Rosethorn. She mentioned it in Briar's Book**

It is at your worst moments that your true self comes through. It is at the very moment the worst possible thing is happening that you will find yourself faced with the decision: Am I a hero or am I afraid?

There are heroes. There really are. But are you one? As the fire explodes round his ears and his sword meets that of his opponent, Ulasim knows he is afraid. He knows he's terrified. He knows there is a large chance he will indeed die.

And he knows that he will still fight, no matter how scared they are. A hero isn't the person who isn't afraid. That's an idiot. The hero is the man who sees his fears and faces them with all his might. Ulasim fears death.

His sword clashes against Rubinyan's. His duty to his people. His life for the life of the raka.

Ulasim will die. But he will die proud.


	10. Chapter 10

**Title: Wedding Cake Vs. Truth**

**Characters: Nealan of Queenscove, Domitan of Masbolle**

**From Truth and Lies, Prompt 46, Truth and Lies, tammy drabble LJ community**

**Biiiig Thx to all reviewers!!!**

One should always be truthful, the teachers say.

Neal snorts disdainfully. Or at least, as disdainfully as an eight-year-old can.

Being truthful got him _into _this fix. How is _that _helping?

Well, he hadn't been strictly truthful…it was true that he _had _been involved in the grand kidnapping of his sisters wedding cake.

It was true, so to speak, that it had been his idea to sneak into the kitchen and sneak back out with the cake while Cook's back was turned.

It had been his idea to take it outside and watch it in the moonlight.

It had been his stomach that grumbled first.

But it was Dom who suggested eating it first.

Several hours later, Neal, having talked himself out of trouble by blaming his cousin for everything, sits by the door, munching his second piece of the (wholly restored) cake.

"Enjoying it in there?" He asks in his trademark sarcastic drawl.

"Bug off." Dom growls back. "Traitor."

Neal decides that, while truth may be the right thing to do, lying is decidedly more profitable. And fun. Licking the icing off his fingers, he also decides it tastes better. Dom will be getting cabbage stew for days.


	11. Chapter 11

**Title: Poetic Justice**

**Characters: Alanna of Pirate's Swoop and Olau**

**Tammydrabble prompt 47: What if?**

Alanna didn't usually waste much time with what ifs and guilt.

What if Roger had taken over hadn't been something she had ever thought about. He hadn't and that was that.

What if she had said yes to Jon was such an insufferable question that she had ignored it from the second it popped up. It would never have worked, he loved Thayet and she loved George.

Had it been wrong to kill Alex was probably the one that bothered her most; he had been her friend and she could have been the bigger person and let him survive. But that was stupid, he would have knifed her from behind one day, and he had been trying to kill her.

What if Liam had survived, well, that was immaterial, in essence. She would have married George anyway, Liam was afraid of her magic.

What if she had never become a knight was scary. She just couldn't imagine herself as a noble lady.

Had it been wrong to leave Daine and Numair in Carthak was just plain silly. She had had no other option at the time.

Had it been stupid to fight with Jon about Keladry of Mindelan, that was an easy question, no, it hadn't.

What if she hadn't acted as mysterious benefactor was too odd a way of thinking for Alanna. Probability was not her area of expertise.

In total, Alanna just did not think about What Ifs. They were too stupid. What's done is done and you shouldn't dwell on the past. Whenever one came up, she cast it aside with a grimace.

There was only one of them that ever had her tossing and turning at night.

What if she had been a better mother. What if she hadn't always been chasing after things and people and fighting in the wars.

What if she had been there, seen her children grow? What if, what if…

What if she hadn't always hacked on Aly to find a goal in life?

Would Aly have stayed then? Would she not have run away?

Alanna sighed over this question many times. It made her feel like a failure.

But she supposed it was only fair. She had felt Aly was a failure enough times.

She also supposed Aly would be rolling around with laughter at the poetic justice of the situation.


	12. Chapter 12

Mithering Bastard

Miri has had enough. More than enough. She is up past her nostrils in having-more-than-enoughness.

Now if only Evin could realize that…

He's drunk. Very drunk.

It happens.

Unfortunately, it happens rather often with Evin, it seems…

"It just never works out…you know, I try and try and there's never that special spark…"

Miri suppresses a growl.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong…all those ladies...and not one...works out..."

That does it. "Evin, you're an idiot. If you don't like the girl, don't sleep with her. I for one am sick of your stupid trysts. Snap out of it and grow up."

Then she stalks off. Miri doesn't do the exploding thing when she gets really angry. She explodes daily over minor things, for fun, usually. When she's really, really angry, she'll just get that frozen voice and build up a wall around herself.

Evin realizes he is in big trouble.

He hasn't really drunk much. He's just a player. And he usually just riles her up with tales about his trysts. It's true, what he said, but he was actually hoping for something else, not her reaction. He was hoping…well…hoping…it sounds stupid now. He was just generally hoping she would…oh, he didn't know. He supposed he was hoping she would fancy him if he gave up the stupid stuff.

Er, make that stupid girls.

Scratching his head, he walks down by the stables.

He could swear that's Miri sobbing.

Evin makes a decision. Tonight, he's going to apologize to all the ladies and their paramours. Tomorrow, once he's healed the cuts and bruises this will cause, he'll apologize to Miri.

Who knows. Hope springs eternal, even to mithering bastards.


	13. Chapter 13

**Title: Scary Magic**

**Characters: Neal, Kel, Dom**

**Prompt 51, TammyDrabbles, Magic**

There was always something faintly funny about Kel and Dom.

Lack of magic.

He was from a highly magical family, with very little to show for it, and she was the first Lady Knight after Alanna, who had more Gift than she knew what to do with. It was kind of expected that they would be brilliant in every regard, especially magic.

But then…there is more than one kind of magic.

Watching the two of them waltz slowly is, without a doubt, proof of that.

After all, there's magic in the air for Midwinter, isn't there?

As Dom drops a kiss on Kel's cheek while the dance ends, Neal decides that this is the kind of really scary magic you should watch out for.

He has never heard Kel make that particular noise before. It's probably faintly related to a giggle.

Shuddering, he turns away from the sickening display. Scary magic.


	14. Chapter 14

**Title: Common Traits**

**Characters: Lord Wyldon, Neal, (Owen)**

**Tammydrabbles prompt 53**

„Queenscove…"

„_Oh damn…_Yes, sir Wyldon?"

„May I ask what you intend to do with that rubber ball?"

"What's wrong with rubber balls, sir?"

"In theory, nothing. What interests me is why you are sneaking around the palace in the middle of the night, clutching a rubber ball. I may remind you it is after hours."

"Er, if you don't mind, sir, why are _you _sneaking around the palace in the middle of the night?"

"I was following you."

"Ah."

"Yes."

"Sir, excuse my curiosity, but why were you following me?"

"Your sneaking around woke me up, and then I wanted to know why you're sneaking around. With a rubber ball."

"…I can't help but noticing your very charming nightshirt, sir. Did your wife sew that teddy bear on?"

"What? Blast. Alright, you've won, Queenscove."

"And this never happened."

"Indeed."

And as Wyldon walks away, Neal looks reflectively at the rubber ball in his hand and thinks that probably the only thing he has in common with Wyldon is curiosity about people sneaking around at night. Grinning slightly, he resumes his tracing of Owen, who dropped the rubber ball a ways back.


	15. Chapter 15

**Spoilers for Terrier, if anyone's still doing so, standard disclaimer, inspired by tammydrabble prompt 56, time. Characters are Beka and Rosto. I feel kinda iffy about this...but I really needed to let out a fluff gland somewhere...**

There is time, and there is none.

It depends on who you are, what you do. She definitely has none.

She works a shift, daily. She knows that. She has particular time limits, and she doubts her superiors would accept excuses.

Admittedly, she does always go early, and she is always more than on time, but she knows that this is not, repeated _not, _a part of her schedule.

Her work states clearly that she is a dog, and that she must go fetch in the evenings.

She knows that, too.

And she loves her work.

But she's not too sure she can just stand up right now. Not sure at all she wants to. Even less sure it will be for the better if she does.

Absolutely positive this is a conflict of mind and heart.

Her mind wants to do her job and go and find that bastard who killed a teenaged girl. Her heart even wants that a bit, too. But her heart is a selfish thing, and mostly it wants to stay right where it is, curled up under blankets, not out in the fierce, cold January weather.

Her heart also very much dislikes the thought of losing the warm body next to her, the fire in the hearth and the contentment she feels deep in her belly. She knows, if she were anything less than a working girl, and a terrier at that, she would know her place precisely, namely right here.

But then…if she were any less than a working girl, and a terrier at that, would he still love her?

He looks at her drowsily. "I know you have to go, Beka."

She nods slowly and rises up from the mess of tangled blankets surrounding them in the armchair, stretches and grabs her baton.

Between the chair and the door, she stops a moment, and looks between the two, torn. He stands up, still wearing a blanket around his shoulder. Kissing her ever so softly, he says, "I know you have your duty, as I have mine."

She smiles at him, and knows it will always be that way. "After all," he adds, "what would your work be without mine?"

"A lot easier, for one thing," she says dryly, and, kissing him one more time, she leaves.

Because there's always more time later, when she's done being the terrier and he's done being the rogue. You just need to use it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Title: Sweet Tea**

**Characters: Owen, Neal, (Margarry)**

**Inspired by tammydrabbles # 58, celebration, sequel to Common Traits (chap. 14)  
**

Owen can still taste the sweet, spicy tea in his mouth that Geri had given him, and he can still taste her on his lips, which is really much the same taste, since she had been drinking it too.

He's lost in thought, and somewhat befuddled by the mixture of exotic spices and Geri, so that he's rather surprised when he bumps into Neal.

"Oh, hello," he says, quite pleasantly in his own opinion, and all set to keep on walking, but Neal doesn't seem to be so used to greeting people passively at two o'clock in the morning in the palace corridors.

"I've been following you," Neal growls.

Owen cocks his head. "Now why would you do that?"

"In order to figure out why you are walking through the palace in the middle of the night, dropping rubber balls." Neal brandishes said object threateningly, or at least as threateningly as one can brandish a rubber ball.

Owen peers at it. "Oh, that. Yes, that's not a rubber ball. It's an unbreakable light source, only the power runs out frightful quick, so you need at least two for one outing. Geri made it."

"That leaves us with the question of why you were sneaking out at night."

"To visit Geri." This seems perfectly obvious to Owen, but not to Neal, who has never heard of Geri prior to tonight.

"Geri…?" he asks.

Owen sighs impatiently. Tomorrow will be a long day, he expects, and he would like to get some sleep. "Margarry."

Sleep evades, though, visible by the way Neal starts and stares at Owen as if he were some sort of apparition. "Of Cavall?!"

"Do you know another?"

"What in heavens name," Neal presses out through clenched teeth, "were you doing visiting Margarry of Cavall in the middle of the night?"

Owen considers a moment, then answers, "Celebrating."

Neal is sure one of his brain vessels will explode, but that's what talking to Owen usually feels like. Is the boy dumb, deaf and blind? Wyldon will have his head for meeting his daughter in the middle of the night. It's a blatant insult to her honor. "Celebrating what?"

Owen blinks, as if he should know the answer already, though both he and Geri have done their utmost to keep it well away from the prying eyes of the court. "Our engagement. We announce it to her Father tomorrow."

Neal feels the sane universe dropping away, melting slowly through his fingers into an indefinable heap on the floor.


End file.
